Foreign Influence_ A Thriller - Brad Thor [30]
Harvath’s mount followed the horse in front and didn’t need much guidance. Either the animal was used to following the priest’s, or it had made this journey before. He suspected both answers were probably correct.
The trail was covered in scree and large rocks that had tumbled down from above. They passed precipitous drop-offs where he had serious concerns about the narrowness of the eroded trail combined with the weight of his horse. Twice, the animal lost its footing and scrambled nervously.
Two hours into their journey, the trail widened and they emerged from a high mountain pass. Beneath them was a lush valley bisected by a wide stream. Near the stream was a burned-out stone farmhouse.
“That was where Nicholas was staying when he was attacked,” said Peio as Harvath drew alongside him.
“Was the fire set on purpose?”
“I don’t think so. His bedroom had apparently been filled with candles. In the struggle, one fell over and ignited the draperies.”
Perched upon a steep cliff across the valley was a small hermitage or priory of some sort. “And that?”
“That is where Nicholas is now,” said the priest. “The monastery of Saint Francis Xavier.”
They descended into the valley and rode past the charred farmhouse. Harvath noticed the remnants of a diesel generator as well as multiple solar panel fragments. There were also cables coming from the stream and he assumed that they led to some sort of hydro-electric turbine.
They crossed the stream and rode to the other side of the valley where they were met by one of the monks, who saw to their horses. Peio then led Harvath up a lengthy switchback on foot to the monastery itself.
Though the architecture was simple, Harvath marveled at the amount of work it must have taken to construct this refuge in this hidden valley deep in the Pyrenees. All of the materials looked as if they probably came from the valley itself.
The interior had a solidity and a solemnity to it. It was like being inside a vault. The only sound came from their footfalls. The air of the little monastery smelled of wood smoke and spices.
At the end of a short hallway, Peio came to a closed door and softly knocked. When dogs began growling on the other side, Harvath knew he had arrived at their destination.
The door was opened by a young monk, whom the priest conversed with briefly in Basque and then excused. After the monk exited the room, Peio stood back and held the door open so Harvath could step inside.
The two enormous dogs immediately got to their feet and came to Peio. They then recognized Harvath and came to him. He scratched both of the Caucasian sheepdogs behind their ears and crossed the threshold.
The little man was lying in bed beneath an old wool blanket and looked like he had run face-first into an airplane propeller. Someone had sewn him up, but the stitches were thick and uneven.
“Cut yourself shaving?” asked Harvath as he drew a chair alongside the bed.
Nicholas looked up at his visitor and smiled. “I assume I won’t be winning any beauty pageants.”
“No, but you weren’t exactly a stunner to begin with now, were you?”
“Too true,” said the little man with a laugh. “Thank you for coming.”
“Don’t thank me. Thank the United States government. Which reminds me. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an—”
“Are you actually Mirandizing me?”
Harvath shrugged. “It’s a service we provide everyone now.”
“Even suspected terrorists?”
“You’ve been living in the mountains too long, my friend. We declared defeat in the war on terror about two years ago. We don’t even use the word terror anymore. There’s only ‘man-made disasters’ caused by disenfranchised groups who are really just ‘misunderstood.’
“In fact, I’ve undergone intense training so that I can better relate to your feelings. If, and I’m not promising we’ll get there, but if you can assure me you